


And Then We'd Be Happy

by PepperF



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M, SO FLUFFY, this is fluffy, this should be obvious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6416320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Jeff proposed to Annie, and one time she said yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Then We'd Be Happy

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted wholly and in-part by Bethany, and kindly beta'd by same. Thank you for always making me fix the bits where I donwanna, and for coming up with the title. ;) 
> 
> Can you believe I hadn't already written a Jeff-proposing-to-Annie fic? Me neither! I mean, really, this was clearly an oversight.

**1\. The hahaha-I-didn't-really-mean-it**

Since the Halloween dance, he'd been making more of an effort to be nice to Annie, to single her out and make her feel special. It wasn't because he owed it to her—no, he'd made up for being a jerk about her party, _at_ her party. It was more just that she was cute, almost sickeningly so, and he liked to see her happy. She had this amazing grin, like her whole face just crinkled up into it. And anyway, a little harmless flirting was, well, harmless. Right? She had a crush on Troy, and he had... a number of possibilities including a militant feminist friend and a statistics professor who would definitely, probably, give in to his charms someday. Besides which, he was clearly not going to pursue the baby of the group, so it was fine, all fine.

So, when she spent three hours helping him study for a test: "Brains _and_ beauty." 

With a wink, when she saved him the last of the chicken fingers: "This is why you're my favorite."

And, on one memorable occasion when she misdirected a search party of the dean, Chang, and Professor Whitman just before they found his hiding spot: "Oh my god, marry me."

Her face faltered, just for a fraction of a second, and it immediately felt like he'd gone too far, like he was leading her on or something, so he hugged her, big-brother style with his arm around her neck, and laughed it off. He pretended not to hear the half-heartedness of her own laugh, and he refused to notice the blush on her cheeks, or the way she pulled away and wouldn't meet his eyes. It was just a joke—she had to learn not to take these things so seriously.

And then debate happened, and he began get the first tiny inkling of a suspicion of a feeling that maybe, just maybe... the joke was on him.

\---

**2\. The challenge**

"Pshyeah," she'd said, after a couple of appletinis. "As if I'd really want to marry you," she'd said. "Not even," she'd said. "Not even if..."

Her description of all the things he'd have to do to convince her to marry him had been long, complex, and cobbled together from several different Inspector Spacetime plots. He was pretty sure she hadn't meant it—in fact, he was pretty sure she'd been lying her ass off to cover what she thought were her unrequited feelings for him—but it had kind of stuck in his craw anyhow, how emphatically she claimed that she didn't want him. Plus he felt bad for the whole 'unrequited' thing, for lying to her and misleading her, and maybe making it up to her for some of that had played some part in this sudden impulse. But…

What if she'd forgotten the conversation already? She hadn’t been drunk, exactly; but she had been giggly and loose-limbed and unguarded, and her eyes had been doing that sparkly, liquid thing they did. And then later she _was_ drunk (and also _handsy_ , god, she was worse than the dean when she'd had a few too many), and he'd practically had to carry her up to her room. He'd helped her onto the bed with the roses and the robes… and when he'd realized just how much he wanted to stay, he'd grabbed the glass of (very nice) scotch from the dinner trolley and high-tailed it outta there.

He decided that meeting up with Troy and Abed afterwards had been a sign—because if anyone had access to the kind of props he'd need, and would be willing to help set up the ropes, it was them. They even added a few embellishments of their own, and were willing to take part as the shrimp chorus, only he wasn't allowed to call them "shrimp" because actually they were an alien species, and... yeah, Jeff didn't care.

Okay, maybe a glass or two—or three, or four—of scotch had played a part, too. And he was probably going to regret this tomorrow, once the scotch and the competitive spirit wore off. But tonight he was damn well gonna prove that he could still charm Annie's pants off. Figuratively speaking, of course.

"Okay," he said, "I'm ready. Zip up the lobster costume and hand me my trident."

(Later, after Annie finally stopped laughing, she patted his stomach, her eyes shining brightly up at him. "I appreciate the gesture, Jeff—and don't worry, I'm not going to accept."

"You were charmed, though, right?"

"I was totally charmed," she confirmed, grinning.)

\---

**3\. The too-early-in-the-relationship-oh-shit-that-just-came-out-of-my-mouth**

This thing with Annie was different from any other relationship he'd had. He _wanted_ it to be different, which was why they'd been dating now for an entire month, but hadn't yet had sex.

Until tonight.

But now that was a thing he could cross off his list of lifetime goals: sex with Annie Edison. Achievement unlocked. It could even be described as still happening, depending on your definition of sex and when it was done—because he was still inside her, and she was still trying to catch her breath beneath him, her cheeks flushed and eyes closed helplessly.

"Oh," she panted, "oh god. That was amazing."

He could feel her fluttering around him with the occasional aftershock, and he set his jaw, the sensation almost too much right now. Her skin had a fine sheen of sweat, and he couldn't resist kissing his way down from just below her ear to between her breasts, which were exactly as gorgeous as he'd always imagined. He cupped one, just because he could, and Annie twitched, sighing when he gentled his touch.

He should be feeling super relaxed right now, his body swimming with endorphins and all that good stuff. But something was keeping him going—an itchy feeling under his skin, restless and demanding. He wished he was still twenty-something with a refractory period in the single digits. He wanted more. He wanted everything.

She laughed breathlessly as he kissed his way to the tip of one breast, squirming under him as he bit her sensitive flesh. "Jeff!"

"C'mon, Annie," he murmured, teasing her with his tongue. "I might need time to recover, but you don't."

"You're insatiable," she groaned, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "Give me a minute, I'm—god, that's..." She peered down at him through heavy-lidded eyes, and he gave her the wicked little grin that he knew always worked on her. 

This time was no exception.

Working to make Annie come again gave him enough time and stimulation to be ready, and sometime later they were again sprawled across his bed, exhausted and wrung out. The sheet was crumpled uncomfortably beneath him, but he didn’t have the energy to move and fix it. He was considering the possibility that he might never move again in his life.

"I don't think... I don't think my legs work any more," said Annie, weakly.

Jeff grunted, human speech being a little beyond his abilities at the present moment. His fingers twitched, grasping the sheets. He was completely physically sated, but something in him still wanted _more_. What was this gaping, hungry emptiness in the pit of his stomach, and how could he satisfy it? If sex with Annie wasn't enough, what would be?

Moved by an impulse he didn't understand, he pushed himself up on surprisingly wobbly elbows, and rolled over, grasping her hips to pull her down the bed towards him.

"Oh god," she groaned, throwing an arm across her face. "No more. I can't."

"Yeah, no," he said, pretty sure he'd need food, water and sleep first. "Not that. I just..." He stared down at her, not sure what to do with all the feelings that were threatening to overwhelm him. He wasn't even sure how to classify them (so much for all that therapy! He should totally sue). All he knew was that, when he looked at Annie, there were a _lot_ of them, so much more than he'd ever felt with any other person.

Annie dropped her arm and gazed up at him. She looked tired, satisfied, happy, maybe a little puzzled—and behind all that, was there just the tiniest hint of doubt? The words were squeezed out of him before he'd given them any thought.

"Let's get married."

He didn't know what reaction he was expecting—he hadn't exactly been planning to say that—but it wasn't for her face to screw up in apparent pain before she slapped a hand back over her eyes.

"Ugh, Jeff, do we really have to do this now?"

He stared down at her, hurt. "What?"

"This thing you do! Proposing to people whenever you're freaking out."

"People? What people?"

"Me, Britta... Professor Slater, for all I know! You keep doing this! Seriously, is there one woman in Greendale you haven't asked to marry you? Inquiring minds want to know."

"I never proposed to Michelle," he objected. "Or any other women in Greendale except you and Britta. Oh, and Shirley that one time, but that wasn't serious, she'd remarried Andre by then."

Annie dropped her hand and gave him an exasperated look.

"And I'm not freaking out," he added.

"Really?"

He wanted to hold her gaze, to assure her that he wasn't—but for some reason, it was impossible. Looking at her breasts really, really didn't help either, so he turned his head and looked away across the room to where her blouse had caught on his bedroom door handle, hanging there like a limp white flag.

"Maybe a little bit," he conceded reluctantly.

"Jeff, look at me."

It was difficult, but she waited until finally he'd managed to meet her eyes again. 

"You don't really want to marry me, do you?" she asked gently. 

"Of course I—"

" _Jeff._ "

He stopped, bit back the arguments, the persuasive words rising to his tongue, and tried to think past the need to do whatever would cement the relationship, right here, right now—to name it and corral it and stop all his flailing around in the dark. "I don't know. I mean, I guess... no," he admitted—and it was like a weight lifted from his chest as he said it. 

"It's much too soon," she agreed, to his relief. 

"You’re right. We've only been dating for a month. And it's not that I don't care about you, but I've only really known you as a friend until now," he continued, warming to the theme. "We're only just learning how to be together. We've barely even scratched the surface of how screwed up I can be in a relationship, and you're probably no picnic, either. I mean, it would totally be understandable if you had a few issues, what with your parents and everything," he added, when her expression faltered. "It's not—that wasn't a criticism. You know I'm going to be _so much_ worse."

"You're really selling this whole thing," Annie observed—but he could see she was holding back a smile.

He shrugged. "Full disclosure, while you're all orgasmed out. And that's another thing, the sex—so far, well, it's been... it's been..."

"Yeah," she smiled, after he'd spent a few moments trying and failing to find the words. "For me, too." She ran her fingers up his arm, her eyes dropping to his lips, and then his pecs. "Spectacular," she purred.

Really, she was so warm and soft and kissable that it was the only rational thing to do at this point. "And then some. But at least some of that is thanks to all the buildup, so, you know..."

"I should keep my expectations low," she said, eyes twinkling.

"Not _low_. I wasn't saying that. Just... it's not always going to be like this."

She pressed her tongue between her lips. "Uh-huh. Jeff, can I say something?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

"You actually don't need to sell me on this relationship. You know that, right? I want this—I want _us_ to work. Even if the sex isn't always perfect, or you occasionally freak out, or I do whatever it is you think I'm going to do because of my parents—"

"Be neurotic and controlling," he supplied, and grinned when she slapped his bare shoulder.

"Jerk. And you'll be rude and cynical and unable to handle your emotions like an adult. I'm expecting that. _I know you_ , Jeff. We just have to give it some time, to settle into this and not panic and think we have to get everything right from the start. So just relax, okay? We make a good team, you and me. We've _got_ this."

"Relax. Okay." He blew out a breath. "I'll try."

She nodded firmly. "Good. Resolved. And no more proposing, all right?"

"No more proposing. Right. I can do that."

\---

**4\. The flat-out panic**

If Abed had been there, or Shirley—or Frankie, Craig, Ian, or even Britta—they would have immediately pointed out that this was a terrible idea and he shouldn't do it. He might even have listened.

Unfortunately, none of them were there, because Annie was furious, and Jeff's brain under stress had two last-ditch solutions. The usual one was scotch, but Annie had poured the last of it down the sink a month ago (anyone else would still be unforgiven, but, well, it was Annie). He had to do something—this was the last straw, he just knew it; she was going to pack up and leave him for good, and _it was going to destroy him_. There was only one other plan that sprang to mind.

"Marry me."

If anything, she looked even more furious. " _What?_ "

"I mean it," he said, his voice ringing with false confidence. It was amazing how effective 'I mean it' could be, even though they were just words, no more credible than any others. "I love you. Marry me, Annie." He tried to look desperate and romantic, but was pretty sure he only achieved the first part.

For a moment, he wasn't sure if she was going to verbally rip him a new one, or actually kick him in the shins. But she did neither, and instead pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose in a gesture he recognized: stress headache. Crap.

So, Jeff being Jeff, he doubled down. "Yeah, let's get married, and start a family."

Annie looked up at him incredulously and growled, "I swear to god, Jeff, if you don't stop talking right now I'm going to stab you." 

"I mean it!"

" _So do I._ "

He was beginning to get the impression that he might possibly have screwed up—just a tad.

Annie took a slow, deep breath, in and out. "I'm going to go—"

"No!" He stepped towards her, meaning to go in for a passionate kiss—but her glare stopped him dead.

" _Jeff_ ," she began, and then something seemed to register with her, and she gave him a searching look.

He wasn't sure what she saw, and part of him wanted to hide, or to push her away— _go on, then, if you're going to leave me, just go_ —but he held his ground, hands clenching and releasing nervously. He even managed to meet her eyes, albeit for only fleeting moments.

"Listen," she said finally, in a much calmer voice, "I am going out for a walk. I'm going to get some air, and clear my head. And after that _I will come back_ , and we'll sit down and talk about this like rational adults. And there will be no proposing, or making of huge life decisions in a blind panic. We're just going to talk. Okay?"

"...okay..." he managed, through a jaw that couldn't seem to unclench.

Annie—and how pathetic was he if he'd take her pity over nothing at all?—reached out and wrapped a hand around his bicep. "Jeff. We can have an argument without it being the end of everything," she said, so gently that he kind of wanted to curl up and die. Her thumb stroked him gently, and he could hear a smile in her voice when she spoke again. "You just have to admit that I'm right and you're wrong, and everything will be fine," she said, angelic and smug and teasing.

His heart leapt, but he managed to conceal it behind a scathing glare of his own. "Oh, you are _so_ not right," he scoffed.

She patted his arm. "Keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better," she said. Her hand trailed down his arm, hooking briefly around his fingers before she let go. She looked him over with amused exasperation. "Marry you," she said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head as she turned away. "Honestly, Jeff, I thought you knew better than that by now!"

\---

**5\. The this-is-what-I'm-supposed-to-do-right?**

Over time, Jeff had come to admit to himself that there were certain things he wasn't very good at. Pottery. Sex with Britta. Responding calmly and rationally to change. And the care and maintenance involved in long-term relationships.

He'd learnt to deal with these by (a) giving up the class after one semester because what was he going to do with a clay ashtray anyway?, (b) not having sex with Britta, (c) acquiring good friends to whom he could turn when he was freaking out, and (d) doing whatever Annie said. Or, when option (d) failed, following the conventional rules until he was back on safe ground.

Annie had given him no concrete guidance about their first anniversary, had said nothing about what he should or shouldn't do, other than agreeing that, yes, they should go out to celebrate, and mentioning that she might have a present for him when they got home. (Judging by her expression, it would probably be Annie herself, maybe naked and wrapped in a bow—and he was _so totally on board_ with that.) But Jeff had seen enough sitcoms and received enough knowing looks and pointed questions from their friends to know that there were some pretty heavy expectations around this significant milestone. So he did some quick thinking: what were the usual tropes? Flowers—check. Dinner—check. A nice gift, maybe some jewelry...

...Hmm. 

Because there was one obvious piece of jewelry that Annie didn't possess. Was she was expecting him to give her a ring? Was that what everyone else thought he was going to do? While he wasn't averse to the idea—he might have said some things in the past about nutting up and dying alone, but he couldn't deny that his actions kind of contradicted that stance—he actually hadn't thought about it much, recently. He wasn't worried about Annie leaving him, so he didn't need a way to tie her down. But maybe she wanted to be tied down?

(Heh. Sometimes she did—and sometimes she wanted to tie him down... aaaand that kind of thinking was not going to help with his problem.)

Was there any reason _not_ to marry Annie? He loved her, and she loved him. He didn't want to be with anyone else, and he couldn't see that ever changing. Annie really ought to want to be with someone else—someone younger and less screwed up, someone with better prospects—but she'd made up her mind, and she seemed happy with her decision, so he'd be an idiot to argue.

There didn't seem to be any reasons why not, so he bought a ring, the best he could afford—which was still nothing like what he would've been able to afford if he was still a lawyer, but not as lame as when he was living out of his car, so he'd learned to settle. Diamond, of course, because that was what you got when you wanted someone to marry you.

He paid the waiter to hide it in the dessert. It seemed like the kind of move she'd appreciate (assuming she didn't accidentally choke on it—he'd always thought that was a lawsuit waiting to happen). Annie's spoon clinked against it with a satisfyingly solid little noise, and when she'd fished it out of her sorbet, she stared at it for a long moment, and then looked up at him, eyes wide with surprise.

Jeff reached across the table and took hold of the hand not holding a spoonful of diamond ring and melting sorbet. The tradition was to kneel, but there were some things he wasn't prepared to do, including making an ass of himself in a nice restaurant, and ruining the line of a perfectly good Armani suit.

"Annie Edison, will you marry me?"

She was silent for a long time—and for the first time since the idea had occurred to him, Jeff realized, heart in his mouth, that he actually didn't know how she was going to respond. 

"Jeff," she said, and he could already hear the 'no' in her voice. "This is very sweet, but..."

"But what?" he asked, surprised to hear the harshness of his tone. 

"But I'm not sure we're ready for this."

His grip tightened. "Wow. Okay. I'm glad you've given it due consideration," he snapped.

She glanced around at the restaurant, and leaned in, keeping her voice low. "Don't do this here, Jeff."

"Do what? Propose to my girlfriend on our anniversary? Because I'm trying to see where I went wrong, Annie, and I'm just not getting it!"

She straightened, eyes flashing. "Oh, fine. Okay. You want to get into it, mister—right here, right now?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Jeff noticed the waiter with the champagne he'd ordered—the man clocked them, smoothly changed course, and headed away. Smart move.

"Bring it on, Michelle Kwan!"

"How many times have you proposed to someone?"

"Inadmissible," Jeff retorted without hesitation. "I've never gone through with a single one."

"Precisely my point." Annie leaned forward and leveled a glare at him. "What makes this time so different?"

He could feel his temper rising. "Uh, because we're dating? Because we've been going out for an entire year? Because I love you, dammit!"

"I know you love me!" Annie checked herself, and repeated, voice softer, "I know you love me, Jeff. But why do you want to _marry_ me?"

"Because—" There were a dozen good reasons, he was sure of it. But as he stared into Annie's eyes, he couldn't come up with a single one that actually sounded sincere.

Annie tugged her hand away, and he released her, feeling oddly numb—but instead of pulling away, she threaded her fingers through his. "I don't doubt how you feel about me—not for a single second," she said, her voice ringing with truth. "But you need to stop proposing to me until you actually know why you're doing it." She dunked the ring in her water glass, swishing it around until it was clean, and then held it out to him on the tip of her index finger. "It's very beautiful," she said. "Keep it someplace safe."

He nodded, and took it, tucking it into the pocket of his jacket. He tightened his fingers through hers. "I love you," he said again, quietly this time. "You get that, right?"

Annie smiled. "I get it," she affirmed. "I don't need my giant wedding binder to figure that out."

"Okay. Good." He caught the waiter's eye, and nodded subtly.

Annie's smile turned coquettish. "And when we get home, I'm going to demonstrate how much I love you," she murmured. Beneath the table, her toes hooked around his leg, sliding up and down. "Spoiler alert: it's a lot."

The waiter arrived, and proffered the bottle of champagne. "Uh, can we get that to go?" Jeff asked. "We have to go get naked now."

"Jeff!"

"Yes, sir," sighed the waiter, wearily.

\---

**6\. And the one time she said 'yes'**

Moving into a new house was a giant pain in the ass, even with all of Annie's superior organizational skills. All the heavy stuff was finally in place, though, and they were down to the unpacking, and setting up of some of the new furniture they'd ordered. 

Jeff, although he liked to pretend otherwise, was not very handy around the house, and didn't really follow instructions well—which was why Annie was currently in charge of bookcase assembly. It wasn't like he'd been completely useless, though. He'd carried boxes until his back ached, and he'd directed the movers when they carried Annie's gigantic desk up the stairs.

This was their second move in the eight years they'd been together, not counting when Annie moved in with him. The first one had been to a tiny apartment, far too small but all they could afford for the first place they chose together. This time it was to an actual house, and he already felt like he was unfolding, spreading out and unbending all the kinks in his spine. Which, right now, felt like a concertina. As soon as they'd kicked everyone out, he was taking a well-deserved shower in their new, bigger bathroom with all the storage space. And if he couldn't get Annie to join him, he wasn't the sex genius he thought he was.

He crouched beside her to set down her coffee, leaning in to kiss her neck.

"Thanks, babe," she said absently, tilting her head to give him better access.

"Everything okay up here?"

"All quiet," she confirmed. "Now if this stupid bookcase would just behave as well...!"

He peered over her shoulder. "I thought you were almost done. Are you deconstructing it again? Isn't that the wrong direction?"

She reached back to swat at his hip, and then sighed. "I put the bottom shelf in backwards, so I had to redo it—only now the screw holes are loose, so I need to use bigger screws, and..." She leaned back, resting her head on his shoulder. "After I finish this, I'm stopping for the day. Or possibly forever."

He set his own coffee down beside hers so he could rub her shoulders. "I think the worst is over. Shirley finished unpacking the kitchen before she left, Troy is setting up the TV and stuff—although I think that's an excuse to talk to Abed on FaceTime—and Frankie and Britta will have finished the dining room once The Great Table Debate has been settled. I did the master bedroom—although you'll probably want to rearrange the closet, I'm pretty sure I've messed up your system."

"Mmm," hummed Annie, eyes closed. "I don't care where you put anything. That's perfect."

Her hair was coming loose from its ponytail, and he smoothed down some stray strands, tucking them behind her ear, and then wrapped his arms around her, crowding her close. "Now, what were you saying about loose screw holes...?"

"Jeff! Don't be gross."

"Talk dirty to me," he urged her, grinning as he nibbled her ear, making her squirm. 

Annie straightened. "If you've still got energy, you can figure out where all that stuff should go," she told him, primly.

"Aw." But Annie just pointed—and paid no attention to his pout—so he pushed himself to his feet with a groan, and headed over to investigate the contents of yet more boxes, grumbling when he saw the labels. "There are seriously too many stuffed animals in this house."

Annie ignored him, and got back to fixing the bookcase, and they worked in silence for a few minutes. When he ambled back to grab his coffee, she waved towards a screwdriver that had rolled out of reach. "Pass me that Phillips head, will you?"

"Sure," he said, grabbing it and handing it over.

"Thanks."

Jeff nodded, meaning to say _you're welcome_. But what came out—without any kind of conscious decision—was: "Marry me?"

That got Annie's attention. She stopped what she was doing and turned slowly to look at him. Then she sat back on her heels, and set down the screwdriver. "Okay, let's hear it," she said, as if she was waiting to hear his pitch. _This had better be good_ , said her expression.

Jeff took a breath, and tried to kick his brain into following where his suddenly-dry mouth had already gone. It was crucial that he got it right, this time—because apparently he was _proposing to Annie right now, for real_. After a moment of thought about the logistics, he lowered himself to his knees in front of her, and took her hands.

Annie's eyebrows lifted, but she waited patiently for him to continue.

"Right. Okay. So. I get it," he told her. "Why you always said no, before. It's because I was asking for all the wrong reasons. Because I was trying to prove myself, or because I was scared everything was changing, or because I wanted to give you a reason to stay..."

"Or because I said you'd never dress up as an Ordovician and do a song and dance number to propose to anyone and you wanted to prove me wrong," she added.

"And that," he agreed. "Is that what it was called? Never mind, don't tell me," he added, hastily. Ever since the new series, she'd gotten into Inspector Spacetime, and seemed to love it even more than Abed, who was filled with righteous anger about the changes and... yeah, Jeff still didn't care. "But this time it's different. Please don't take this the wrong way, but—I'm sure of you. I'm not worried you're going to up and leave, the minute I mess up. You're my one constant in a lifetime of surprising and terrifying events."

"Is this about..." She glanced with tender uncertainty towards the crib that stood safely across the room from all furniture-assembling areas, in which the most surprising and terrifying event of all lay sleeping peacefully with his thumb in his mouth: Sebastian, the one person for whom Annie had not and could never have planned. Jeff sincerely hoped that the kid would continue to confound all of Annie's expectations. Someone needed to keep her on her toes, and he'd long since given up the delusion that it was him.

"No." And if he sounded confident, it was because he was. "Not in the way you mean, anyway. I won't deny there's been pressure from certain quarters to make an honest woman of you."

"Shirley," sighed Annie.

"Naming no names," said Jeff, diplomatically. "But that's not why I'm asking. I wouldn't do that to you, either of you. And thanks for not mentioning the fucking—sorry, I know, Sebastian is a baby genius-slash-parrot who will memorize and repeat every word I say—the _freaking_ milestone birthday I've got this year, but it's not that, either."

He paused, and shuffled uncomfortably from knee to knee, with an unpleasant crackling noise (which was totally because he’d just spent all day carrying heavy boxes, and had nothing to do with him getting older).

"I love you, Annie, and I'm proposing because I want to marry you, and if you want that too, that would be exciting and amazing, and I'd be the luckiest bastard alive—but honestly, I don't care what your answer is, because either way, I know we're going to be together forever. So, Annie Edison..." He shifted onto one knee. "Would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?"

Annie gave him her thousand-watt grin. "No pressure?"

"No pressure," he confirmed. "Although if it helps tip the balance, I'd like to point out that we have a diamond ring gathering dust somewhere. And your giant wedding binder, too." He thought for a second. "I don't _actually_ know where we packed either one of them, but I'm pretty sure they'll turn up."

"It would be a shame to waste them," she agreed. "Jeff... are you trying to Winger speech me into marrying you?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Is it working?"

Annie looked thoughtfully at their joined hands. "It kind of is," she admitted.

Jeff grinned, and waited.

She looked up at him through her lashes. "Well, seeing as you asked so _nicely_... and you have managed to resist panic-proposing to me for at least five years now, even when I told you I was pregnant…"

He bit his tongue, not about to tell her how close he'd been to asking for the entire nine months—and especially when Sebastian had finally arrived. Convincing her that he was asking for the right reasons would have been even harder, and really, who needed that?

"And it really is about time I made an honest man of you... how could I say anything but yes?"

Jeff caught his breath. "Yes?" he asked huskily, not sure he'd understood correctly. "Isn't this the part where you usually say no?"

"No, Jeff, don't be dense," she scolded. "I'm saying _yes_. Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES!"

He caught her as she threw her arms around his neck—but then his knee popped, he overbalanced, and they tumbled into a heap on the floor among all the dismantled boxes and packing materials, half-assembled bookcases, and the contents of Annie's purple toolkit.

Jeff didn't care. He was far too busy kissing his fiancée.


End file.
